browsing books
stacked between stairs
i mind-touch them
i instinct-weigh them
by spines
and colours
and names
and font
when a ten year old
says to me
YOU WRITE POETRY DONT YOU ?
i nod / say
BUT I DONT READ IT MUCH
he says
YOU SHOULD THO SHOULDNT YOU ?
so today i take
a doorstep
of Harold Norse
to the white room
with my failing guts
when i come out
i have left
my trousers behind
and i write 6 poems
of which this is one
from acousticlevitation.org
